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Copyrighted, 1391. 

Geo. S. Harris & Sons, 
Philadelphia, New York and Chicago. 






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• • The • • fliSTLETOE • . Bough . . 


“ The mistletoe hung in the castle hall, 

The holly branch shone on the old oak wall ; 
And the Baron’s retainers were blithe and gay 
And keeping their Christmas holiday. 

The Baron beheld with a father’s pride, 

His beautiful child, young Novell’s bride ; 

And she, with her bright eye, seemed to be 
The star of that goodly company.” 


MODENA, in far-off Italy, stands a noble palace. Its gardens, rising 
terrace above terrace, are rich in fountains, statues and cypresses. 
Romantic, arched walks, dim even at noonday, inspire thoughts 
of brave knights and “ladies faire ” of the olden time. Then 
doubtless, in long agone ages, many a tale of true love was 
whispered into willing ears, and, each time, two more hearts 
learned to beat in that sweet unison called love, and which 
sometimes means life. 

heaving the gardens, enter the house and look well at a picture S 
It i^ of a beautiful maiden in bridal robes. She is in her earliest womanhood| 
and sits inclining forward as if to speak, her lips half open and her finger 
up as though she were saying, “ beware.” Her golden vestment is richly 
embroidered with flowers and dotted o’er with clasps of gold, a priceless 
emerald in every clasp. On her brow, beautiful as alabaster, rests a 
coronet of pearls, each stone the size of a robin’s egg. 





But the beauty of her raiment is far transcended by that of her face, 
so lovely, arch and full of mirth it is, exhibiting the overflowings of a pure 
and innocent heart. Stand before this picture and gaze your fill. Then 
go away. Soon you will return to gaze anew, so strangely fascinating is th**p^ 
expression of those merry, sweet lips That picture you will not soon 
forget. With us, it lives a haunting memory, a weird, though beautiful 
presence. Beneath it, in strange contrast, stands an oaken chest, its 
sides curiously carved, and half eaten by the remorseless worm. This is 
the tale they tell : 

Many centuries ago, in “ Merrie England,” there lived a proud ~ 

Baron. His castle was gloomy and strong, with mighty towers, each 
strongly garrisoned, and surrounded by a deep moat constantly filled with water. 
The Baron’s retainers were many ; his allegiance to his King unswerving. He was 
fierce and warlike, and fought many hard battles in England’s defence. He was harsh 
and stern, a man of blood and iron, to all save one. A daughter, motherless at her 
birth, was the only being to whom the Baron threw open the doors of his softer nature. 
She was his joy, his pride, his ray of sunshine. On her he lavished all the affection of a 
strong nature, and to her he was always a kind and loving father. Her name, her 
mother’s own, was Ginevra. It was the Baron’s study to smooth from her path every care 
and trial, to brush aside the thorns which beset life’s progress. 

At the time our story opens, Ginevra had grown to womanhood, possessed of a 
sweet, sunny nature and beloved of all who knew her. She was almost sixteen, the next 
Christmas Day being her sixteenth birthday, and that day had been set apart as her 
wedding day. Her betrothed, the young Lord Lovell, was the son of a neighboring 
Baron, and a brave, handsome nobleman he was. Tall and well formed, and of distin- 
guished bearing, he seemed indeed a fitting husband even for the lovely Ginevra. His 



race was a noble one, some of his ancestors having followed 
King Arthur through many a bloody fight. 

Christmas finally came and with it Lord 
Lovell on his milk-white steed to claim his 
promised bride. These two young people had 
since babyhood and loved each other fondly. The 
fame of Ginovra’s beauty and accomplishments had so spread 
throughout the land that her suitors were legion, even the dashing 
Prince Edward, heir to the English throne, being of their number. 
She turned a deaf ear to their prayers, however, and dismissed them 
all, remaining true to him to whom she had given her heart. The 
Baron went to London for her wedding garments. They were as rich 
and rare as any princess might possess. Her veil was like unto a 
silver mist, and her slippers of beautiful white satin studded with 
pearls, were so tiny that you would surely have thought them meant 
a little child. The night before the wedding, the Baron called Ginevra 
him and handed her a curiously carved old ivory box. 

“This,” said he, “is thy mother’s wedding gift — now is the time to wear it.” 
Taking from his purse a small gold key covered with the quaint carvings of the Orient, he 
turned the lock. The lid flew up and showed, resting on a rich lining of delicately tinted 
violet velvet, a heap of strung pearls of marvelous size and superb quality. 

“ They are beautiful !” exclaimed Ginevra, in breathless admiration. 

“Aye,” said the Baron, “beautiful, indeed. Their like is not in old England. I 
bought them of the Turk in Constantinople on my way from Palestine. Wear them, little 
one, with thy father’s blessing and as an appropriate symbol of thine own purity, for thou 
art to me a priceless pearl. And see, my daughter, here is thy wedding ring ! It was thy 


mother’s, and within is engraved the name of both — Ginevra. It beareth a charm which 
brings good luck to its wearer. It has surely done so to me for have I not thee, my 
sweet?” 

Lovely was the bride next day in her nuptial robe of purest white, fastened with 
golden clasps, each clasp set with an emerald ; her vest of gold embroidered with flowers ; 
her veil a floating mist, sweetest roses on her cheeks, and pearls upon her 
breast. Without, the storm raged fiercely and snow whitened the winter 
landscape. Notwithstanding, the wedding guests gathered in goodly num- 
bers to do honor to the lovely bride and her noble lord. The joy bells rang ; 
the prayer was said ; the good old Priest pronounced his blessing, and Gin- 
evra and Lord Lovell were made one flesh. Then came the wedding feast 
and Christmas revel combined. The long, ladies’ hall, where the guests 
assembled, was a lordly room. Its floors were of polished oak. Richly 
carved wainscotings covered the walls and graceful columns supported the 
oaken ceiling. Christmas garlands were tastefully twined about. The holly, 
the ivy, and Christmas roses made the grand old room a very bower of 
beauty. A huge branch of mistletoe hung from the centre of the ceiling, 
promising a good night’s sport. The feast was, indeed, a royal one. There 
were oxen roasted whole, huge pies of venison and game, and, holding a 
high place among the season’s delicacies, a beautifully decorated pie made 
of peacock’s flesh. The table was literally loaded with good cheer. On the 
old oak sideboard was a display of plate that rivaled the splendors of the 
courts of the East ; flagons, cans, cups, beakers, goblets, basins, and ewers were there, 
the accumulation of several generations of good fellowship. On the broad hearth, the 
monster Yule log blazed merrily, shedding over the gay scene a soft radiance which 
transformed it into a fairy spectacle. 



But when mirth was at its highest pitch, the fair young bride was suddenly missed 
from her place. “ ’Tis one of her childish tricks to make trial of our love,” cried the 
Baron. “ One more cup to Lady Lovell ! Pass round the wassail bowl once more !” He 
raised the cup on high, but his arm shook as though with palsy, and the cup went crash- 
ing to the floor. The panic quickly spread among the guests. Searching parties, bearing 
lighted torches, hurried anxiously through every nook and corner of the gloomy old castle. 
It was filled with dark passages, whose devious windings few could understand. All night 
long the searchers worked with feverish eagerness, but, alas, all in vain. At daybreak, 
they came straggling back disheartened, white, and trembling, for they remembered the 
ominous words of an old gypsy — “ the Lady Ginevra is doomed 

Lord Lovell— oh, how changed— hunted on, without food or rest, when all others 
had given up in despair. He called aloud, through gallery and passage, “ Come to me ! 
Come, or thou art lost !” And the cutting wind, moaning through the darkness, echoed 
back the answer, “ Lost !” 

Four days and five long dreary nights were spent in searching the castle. On the 
morning of the fifth day, the Baron, his whilom coal-black hair now as white as snow, and 
lines of anguish deeply graven on his face, in a hoarse, changed voice, spoke thus : 

“Thanks, my friends, every one. Be it remembered, he who bringeth me trace of the 
A Lady Ginevra or clew to her finding, shall have what he may ask, were it half my barony. ” 
The wedding guests turned to go. But, at that moment, the great bell on the 
tower struck one. A death-like silence followed ! List, it speaks again ; two, 
three, four ; it rang seventeen ! What did this mean ? No one inhabited the 
bell tower and the ropes were never touched, except at a birth, a wedding, 
or — could it be — a death ? Were fairy hands tolling a solemn requiem 
for the passing soul of the lost Ginevra ? Was its ringing a sign that she 
must now be numbered among the saints in heaven ? Who could say ? 



Till this moment, the Baron had not shed a tear. When the last, sad tones of the 
bell died away, he covered his face with his hands and big drops fell through his fingers 
like pouring rain. Children clung in terror to their mother’s skirts ; women sobbed 
together in groups ; and stalwart warriors, too brave to be ashamed of tears, fell 
into each other’s arms and wept aloud. Sad was the ending to that gay, 
Christmas revel. Never were wedding guests like those who, that day, 
passed through the snowclad forest, where the wind seemed wailing the 
words — ‘ ‘ Farewell ; farewell — forever. ’ ’ 

From that fatal hour nothing could be guessed save that Ginevra 
was not. When a year had dragged its weary length away, Ford 
Lovell, haggard and sunken eyed, gave up hope and threw his life 
away fighting the Turk on the burning sands of the Holy Land. The Baron 
‘ never rested from his search. All day and all night the old man, wrinkled 
and bent, sought his lost darling through doleful chambers and darkened 
galleries. At last they found him lying on a staircase in a remote part of 
the castle, a tiny pair of satin slippers, yellow and faded, clasped tightly to his 
breast. The dull grief throbs were stilled, the wearied spirit at rest, for his soul 
had passed to its eternal home, and was even then rejoicing with that of his lost 
darling in the presence of the Prince of Peace. 

Years went by and the old castle was tenantless, .save for the owl who 
made his home in the gloomy tower. The stone battlements were moss-grown ; 
the gardens a waste of weeds. After a century had passed away, it was sold into 
4 the hands of strangers. One day, while workmen were repairing the grand stair- 
case, a secret door, which had rusted off its hinges, fell in and disclosed a room, 
dark as the grave. In its dim recesses an old oaken chest was found. A maid, as 
young and thoughtless as Ginevra, said : “ Why not remove it from its lurking place 






and see what it holds.’ ’ The workmen slowly 
dragged it forth, but ’twas so old, that on being 
jostled it fell asunder, and lo, mouldering within, 
a skeleton appeared ! About its head circled 
a coronet of pearls; here and there, held in a 
clasp of gold, sparkled an emerald ; and in a pile 
of dust that once had been a hand was found 
a nuptial ring engraved within, “Ginevra.” 


“ O sad was her late when, in sportive jest, 
She hid from her lord in the old oak chest ; 

It closed with a spring and her bridal bloom, 
Lay withering there in a lonely tomb.” 


A sad Christmas story this. We would 
gladly make it happier, but cannot. The tale 
is a true one, and its very sadness must be its 
apology. 



4 



The old time Christmas, however, was far from being a period of 
grief. It was ever a season of delight. Its revels lasted full 
twelve days, and were presided over by a merry fellow called 
the Lord of Misrule. Mirth-souuds filled the air ; and ivy, 
red-berried holly and blooming roses helped to create an 
of Christmas cheer. From each oaken ceiling 
the favorite mistletoe, at once a menance and an invita- 
to the pretty girls of the gay company. Waits, or 
sang good old Christmas carols before the principal 
, and troops of merry maskers, decked out in fanciful 
costumes, held high carnival. The Yule log, or Christmas 
block, was burnt on Christmas eve and, early Christmas 
morning, the halls of the old castles and manor houses were 
thrown open, and “ rich and poor were alike welcome to enter and 
make merry.” 

Then there was gaming, wrestling and trying of strength, and, incident- 
ally, a few bloody noses and cracked skulls, occurrences of small moment in 
those rough times. The Christmas dinner was an event to be remembered. Each 
board literally groaned with hospitality. Boar’s head, plum-pudding, minced pies, 
the sacred peacock pie and “ nut browne ” wassail held first places in popular esteem, and 
the music of harp and horn, and snatches of merry song increased the zest with which 


each guest partook of the ample feast. 

In short, the Christmas season was a rollicking jubilee looked forward to with 
liveliest anticipations, and indulged in with equal heartiness by both old and young. 



The Christmas of to-day, though quieter, is none the less 
happy. The rollicking customs adapted to the ruder civilization of 
forefathers have been modified to suit modern needs, and our 
Christmas is the same joyous holiday as 


“ In days of old, when Knights were bold, 
And Barons held their sway.” 



There is one of the old customs which still remains, and which seems to ever 
strengthen its hold on the hearts of the people a<3 years go by — the glorious sentiment 
of “Peace on Earth, Good-Will to Men.” The bonds of kinship and love, at this 
season, are drawn closer, and men forget for the time, the striving for self in an effort 
to make others happy. Love tokens bring joy to numberless hearts, and, like mercy, 
bless “him that gives and him that takes,” for in their giving we experience the 
exquisite pleasure of sacrificing for the good of our fellowmen. But, delightful as J 
the Christmas season is, it is not without its difficulties. The desire to give is 3^ 
seldom accompanied by a knowledge of just what will be acceptable. The 
of investing our Christmas savings to the best advantage often becomes a 
one, particularly with so busy a people as the American public. 

This knowledge is what we aim to supply. We have grouped 
together for your aid thousands of beautiful Christmas thoughts 
so varied a nature that all tastes may be satisfied. 



^terling ^ilver J^Jovelties 


There are sterling silver novelties of every sort. The demands of 
trade have been so great that the establishment of a special department 
for this class of goods becomes a necessity, and we enter the new field 
fully equipped to supply all needs. Our stock is crowded with choice 
things, clever ideas evolved after a close study of the world’s best 
markets. Delightful surprises for every one are included in its list, and the low 
costs form another surprise, just as happy. Appended are a few jogs to sluggish 
memories : 


BRACELETS SCARF PINS BROOCHES 

BONBONIERS GLOVE HOOKS VINAIGRETTES 

TABLETS CHATELAINES WHISTLES 

BELT BUCKLES GARTER BUCKLES SHOE BUCKLES 

PENCILS FLASKS MATCH BOXES 

STAHP BOXES PEN WIPERS COURT PLASTER CASES 



PURSES 


SHOE HOOKS 


Jewelry 


Then there are many fortunates whose purses possess qualities too elastic to be 
satisfied by sterling silver ideas. For such, our thoughts are “golden.” The line of 
jewelry is always fine, perhaps the finest there is. But, we believe that the “best” can 
always be excelled, and, this season, we have made an extra effort. Result — even our 
own record is broken and you reap the benefit. Examine a few of the winning names : 


RINGS 

NECKLACES 

LOCKETS 

CUFF BUTTONS AND LINKS 

PENDANTS 


LACE PINS 



BRACELETS 

QUEEN CHAINS 

BROOCHES 

VEST CHAINS 

STUDS 


EAR RINGS 


SCARF PINS 






In this age of bustle and electricity, every one needs a watch. Old Father Time is 1 
a wary fellow and needs looking after. Helps in this task are here in profusion and at 
prices merely nominal. A necessary quality of a good time-piece, as of every good thing! 
is faithfulness. Our watches possess this quality in an eminent degree, as hundreds of 
carriers can attest. We make a specialty of the “ Z. J. P.” which is manufactured 
expressly and solely for us. It is cased in 14 or 18 K. gold, hunting or open face. T&s 
watch possesses three notable characteristics— beauty, cheapness, and reliability— a for- 1 


midable trio this, as our competitors have discovered. 


The Z. J. P.'s, however, are only one class of a large stock. We have every 
conceivable sort of time-piece which is embraced under the heads 



PLAIN TIHERS 


REPEATERS AND THE 


CHRONOGRAPHS 


VARIOUS COMPLICATIONS 


D 


esigmng 


Although our stock is so large and widely varied that one would think it capabl 
meeting every demand on it, yet experience has taught us that human foresight is/m>t 
sufficiently acute to provide for all emergencies. You may have some special desire 
which nothing we have on hand will satisfy. We have provided a department whose aim 
is to supply such wants, be they what they may. It is presided over by our Mr. Pequignot, 
who devotes his individual attention to its management, and he is ready to put into tan- 
gible shape the “something” which you have in your mind’s eye, but have not yet 
succeeded in bringing within range of the physical organ of vision. Unique designs to 
suit the most cultivated tastes are the chef d* cetivre of this department. 



[Repairing 



pu may have a few pieces of choice jewelry, which have been rele- 
'gated to an obscure corner of the jewel case, because of a 
fancied inability to have them properly repaired. Bring 
1111 ^hem to us. We have secured the very best of workmen for our 


^ Repair Department, and are ready, therefore, to cope successfully 
/ with all jobs, whether simple or complicated. 




emounting £)iamonds 


book again in the jewel case. Perhaps you will find there a 
diamond whose beauties are handicapped by a bad setting. Tempora 
Mutcintur! Dame Fashion demands changes in the dress of a precious 
stone just as strenuously as in that of individuals. Bring the gems 
to us, for we have ever been close students of this charming lady’s most 
capricious whims, and our experience may be of infinite service to you 
in obeying her latest mandates. 

Z. J. PEQUIGNOT, Jeweler 


806 CHESTNUT STREET 


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